Affliction
by ThomE.Gemcity-06
Summary: Shotgunned for two months, Steve is due for his reserve drills, letting Danny back into the saddle of driving HIS OWN car! But after getting hit with sudden, if short, bouts of sickness, the Jersey-native is pretty sure the world is playing a pretty shitty joke at his expense because the obvious conclusion to this is just ridiculous and utterly unacceptable.


**a/n: Jeez, it feels like forever since I posted anything. Anyway, this fic just didn't want to come out. 'Details' hate me, but writer's block was really loving me fore this one. Anyway again: Stop reading this and read the story already, it took me long enough to write it. :)**

 **Summary** : _Shotgunned for two months, Steve is due for his reserve drills, letting Danny back into the saddle of driving HIS OWN car! But after getting hit with sudden, if short, bouts of sickness, the Jersey-native is pretty sure the world is playing a pretty shitty joke at his expense because the obvious conclusion to this is just ridiculous and utterly unacceptable._  
 _Carsickness? Over his dead body!_

 **HAWAII . FIVE - 0**

* * *

 **Affliction**

The ringing of Danny's cell woke him even before the set alarm programmed in. It overrode the music through the headphones he was wearing that Steve had gotten him. They were fancy, he didn't even have to look the brand up online to know that, so he didn't bother—the fact that he had to get Kono's help to set them up to work with his cell was enough confirmation.

He wasn't as technologically adept as the rest of the team, especially the cousins—they all had their strong-suits and he stuck with his. It was part of why they work so well as a team; they were covered on all accounts. She'd clued him into some of the apps on his phone that he blatantly ignored; like the music one, or the audio-books one (that he had to stop because he fell asleep listening to Betty White and his dreams had been pretty creepy); or online TV that streamed constantly but cost him a pretty penny—anything that would help drown out the incessant crashing waves of McGarrett's private little beach.

Of course, all was fine in the day. When he had Grace over for the weekend and they would go for a swim (something that he was just generally doing more often now that he was crashing on Steve's couch) . Or he'd even be kind enough to let Steve build upon the struts of Kono's surfing lessons. But at night, while he was trying to sleep? Insufferable!

The first couple nights that he tried out his new headphones plugged into the TV, it worked a little _too_ well. Even with earplugs, there was still some outside ambiance that got through and gave you awareness of the outside world. Not these headphones; they sealed his ears in and let nothing of the world seep through. Not the constant waves, the ring of his phone… Steve coming down for the morning, going for his morning swim/run, his racket in the kitchen. Not even a twitch; and he was usually a light sleeper (it was almost called for with the job; one had to be ready for sudden wake-up calls).

It wasn't until Steve perched on the edge of the coffee table and carefully lifted the speaker from his ear, leaned close and shouted: "SOMEONE'S STEALING THE CAMARO!" that Danny was shoved into awareness almost as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped on him.

He was off the couch, tangled in blankets, the headphone's retractable cord pulling from the TV and almost whipping him in the face if the headphones hadn't been tugged from his head at the same time. It was only Steve's responsive reflexes that had saved Danny from what could have been a bad fall. Of course, it was all Steve's fault, but they decided after coffee that Steve wouldn't do that again, and they had to come up with something better in Danny's situation—enter Kono. That had been almost two months ago and things had been going pretty smooth since then, at least in regards to Danny's headphones.

Stick him and Steve together and there was never going to be _peace_ in the strictest sense of the word. But it had been actually going pretty well with Danny crashing at the McGarrett Home while he tried to find an apartment. He refused to move to one of the two spare bedrooms (Steve and Mary Ann's childhood rooms), and insisted on the couch otherwise it would feel like he moved in and he'd want to stay longer than was necessary. The storage unit to store his crap was making a hole in his account like it was actually an apartment as it was. He wasn't paying rent, but he was picking up his fare share; he and Steve switched out house duties, but drew the line at folding each other's underwear.

He was on Steve's couch longer still than he had intended, one week had been his thoughtful limit, but finding an apartment in his price range and something that was suitable for Grace was more difficult than he had originally anticipated. But Steve didn't seemed to mind.

Eyes still closed, his hand eerily found his phone on the edge of the coffee table at first go. He pushed the earphone off his ear with one hand, it releasing almost like a suction cup as he thumbed the slid and brought his phone to his released ear.

"Williams," he cleared his throat. Chin greeted him across the line, Kono's good-morning coming at a little more of a distance. "Hey, Chin Ho." He listened and groaned. A body, of course, what else could it have been? "Alright. I'll be there around forty-five. 'Kay." He was about to hang up but huffed as he heard Kono. "Alright, but I'm not taking the heat with whatever the condition the coffee arrives in."

He hung up, sliding his cell back onto the coffee table. He sat up, pushing the headphone off his head, rubbing at his ears and cranked his jaw, forcing his ears to pop. He stretched with fingers laced overhead, letting out a long soft groan as he stretched out his back. He ran fingers through his troll hair and called, "Hey, Ste—" before he cut himself off as he remembered: "SuperSEAL's off training little SEALpups to terrorize the world," he wasn't sure if he was more sorry for the SEALpups or the world.

Steve had finally taken one week leave of Five-0 to clear out some of his reserve duties at the Pearl Harbour Base; he was staying there for the duration. That left Danny in care of the McGarrett Home, in charge as Second of Five-0—and able to drive his own car!

Danny perked up at little at that, even without the outside stimulant of his morning coffee. Driving him own damn car. In the two months since he'd been staying with Steve, he couldn't remember the last time that he sat in the driver's seat of the Camaro. They carpooled to work; Steve drove. They worked; Steve drove. He had Grace for the weekend; Rachel either dropped her off, or low and behold Steve drove when they picked her up.

He bypassed the kitchen completely and used the downstairs bathroom. As much as he would have loved to have a morning cup before he even left the house, it wasn't going to happen. If Steve was a control freak about driving Danny's car, then he was the same control freak about the coffee. He didn't allow Danny to touch his French Press; he hated Danny's coffee and didn't allow it. So even with Steve gone, it wasn't going to happen because it wasn't like he knew how to use the cafetière properly to make a decent cup anyways. He wasn't a complicated guy when it came to his coffee; no sugar, a splash of milk so it didn't burn his tongue. He didn't need those fancy creamers, or frappuccinos or chai lattes that made him disown Star Bucks. A coffee filter, couple scoops of grounds and a pot of water was all he needed and he had himself twelve simple cups.

But, until Steve's return in one week, he was just going to have to get his cup from one of his more favourable takeout cafés on the way to work; such suggestion brought on by Five-0's rookie officer when Chin had called. So, it was within ten minutes that Danny was brushed, dressed and locking up the McGarrett house with his gun and badge on his belt upon waking.

Despite that, he was happy enough when he unlocked his car and slid into the driver's seat for the first time in two months. Of course, he had to adjust the seat and the mirrors just a tad to accommodate his shorter frame, but he didn't let it damper his mood of early morning murder wake-up calls and no coffee, especially as he felt the engine purr to life.

Knowing his way through the streets of Honolulu pretty well after nearly three years of living on O'ahu, he easily navigated his way to his favoured café on his route to Interstate H3, ordering four takeout coffees (he'd drink one on the way and have another for later, making up for not getting his morning cup) and a bag of assorted breakfast pastries.

He put the cardboard tray on the rubber mat in the footwell of the passenger seat, the pastry bag going on the seat. He started on his first coffee of the morning as he went up the on-ramp of the H-3 from the interchange and merged with the traffic of the freeway. He put a little more pressure on the gas peddle, picking up speed to a couple clicks over the designated speed limit like a regular person, no need to go overboard like Steve who thought speed limits simply didn't apply to him.

Even this early in the morning, before six, the lanes were filled with vehicles, bobbing in ever shifting positions around him, the sideline greenery of the Hālawa Valley starting to climb the raised cliffs that surrounded the viaduct roadway, streaking lightly in his peripheral vision as he stared at the road ahead.

Feeling a little queasy in the stomach, he put his coffee back in the holder and took the pastry bag into his lap. Last he'd ate was last night, some leftover takeout after Steve had left for the Pearl Harbour, and of course, nothing but takeout coffee sloshed in his stomach now. But he quickly remedied it with a jelly pastry fished from the bag.

Felling better now with something on his stomach, he chased it down with a swig of coffee and licked his fingers clean and continued on his drive to the crime scene. He was sorry that someone had been killed, but he was a little happy at the distance of the crime and the stretched, constant route it allowed him to take. Two months! since he'd last driven.

"McGarrett," he shook his head. "You gotta loosen up, buddy! Two months? That's gotta be insane, even for you."

He adjusted in his seat to a more comfortable position. "Probably a McGarrett butt impression." He wiggled around some more determinedly. "Gonna take care of that right now." The only butt this seat was going to see in the next five-to-seven days was his own, the way it should be. "My car, my butt impression."

And of course, he was talking to himself, but that was really nothing new. He was a naturally verbal person. Of course, sometimes talking to Steve was like talking to a brick wall, so really, there wasn't much difference.

He was cast into dim darkness lighted poorly by fading caged lights that ran along the length of the tunnel roof as he followed the three-laned Freeway through the Testsuo Harano Tunnels (that cut two separate holes through the Ko'olau Mountains for the altering directions of traffic). Cast into near-darkness for almost three minutes. Despite its length, you could usually have seen 'the light at the end of the tunnel' when the Hawaiian sun finally crested the high mountain. As it was not even yet 6:00 a.m., no such vision was cast.

All the same... emerging on the other side, he wetted his palate with some coffee and turned on the radio to fill the quiet.

Feeling his stomach acting up again, he willingly submitted it to a second Danish and the rest of his first coffee by the time turned on Route 63 of the Likelike Highway for his eastbound exit to the town of Kaneohe where Five-0's crime scene awaited.

It was easy to find with the police presence (what looked like a family-owned garage at the edge of downtown) and Danny parked his Camaro alongside Kono's red Cruizer. When he stepped out, a sudden weakness took his knees and he gripped the edge of his door with white knuckles, but after a few seconds, he was able shake it off.

"Hey, Danny." "Morning, brah."

He was greeted by the cousins.

"Carpooled, huh?" he said in greeting.

"We didn't ask because we figured you'd want to drive your car." Chin gave him an easy smile. "What has it been... two months?"

"Don't remind me." He grumbled. Kono opened her mouth with a little gleam in her eyes, but Danny stopped her right fast. "If you ever want that coffee then you better..." he made a close-mouth gesture with his hand. "It's in a tray on the passenger floor." He jerked his thumb at the Camaro behind him.

Kono did close her mouth (at least for now) and went around the car.

"There's obviously something in the water that I'm immune to, because the two of you are way too... _chipper_ at five in the morning at a crime scene."

"And here we thought driving your car would put you in a _good_ mood if the five a.m. wake up call didn't." Kono chirped, handing Chin his coffee. See, not very long.

They were insulated disposable cups. The coffee wasn't piping hot like it had just been served, but after little over half-an-hour, it was still a little above room temperature and the cousins drank happily.

"It's the waves, brother." Chin told him. "There's nothing better."

"Oh, yes. Yes, there is." Danny countered readily. "Sleeping in until the alarm goes off. That's certainly better. Surfing's all well and good. I enjoy it, it's great. Truly. Just not four hours earlier before a regular person awakens for the day. That's all." He spread his hands as they started for their crime scene, with Max already in attendance as the M.E.'s van indicated. "The full eight hours—that's _my_ dream." His fingers pointed towards his chest.

Kono chuckled, shaking her head fondly. "Can you **be** anymore _haole?_ "

"Oh, well, I'm sorry for not waking up before even the ass crack of dawn to go out into the dark ocean on a wooden board to be easy bait for sharks, but instead am rational and stay in bed. That's my bad," he held up his hands in surrender.

"You'll learn," Chin clapped his lightly on the shoulder. "We'll teach you. There's plenty of time."

"Max!" Danny called with relief, definitely needing a course change from the dangerous waters of this subject. "What's the news?"

"Well, it certainly is not _good_ news, detective." Max declared definitively, standing amongst three dead bodies in the back office of the garage. "But a good morning to you otherwise. Though I'm regretful to not be seeing Commander McGarrett for the next seven days as he fulfills his reserve duties, I am sure you will do an adequate job in leading Five-0 on this case."

Well, it wasn't the worst start of all mornings, was it? Considering the three dead bodies, Steve's absence, and able to drive his own car. He'd had worse. But it was sure to be a long one with three bodies already.

"Thanks... Max." Danny told him slowly, knowing it was a compliment coming from the odd doctor. "What do we have?" he rubbed his right ear.

"Well, detective, as you can observe, we have three bodies today ~" Max articulated in his usual precise manner, despite the early hour.

...

The Three-fourths of the present Five-0 Task Force walked through the scene in the back office of the garage and the rest of the building as Max bagged up the bodies and drove them back to the morgue to perform the autopsies and CSU finished bagging, tagging, and photographing evidence.

One of the victims had been identified as the owner of the garage (his mug was in a framed family photos on the desk, blood spatter across the glass frame); the second victim was in the system with a telling sleeve and a history of being in a local gang; the third, through the I.D. in her purse, was identified as the garage's receptionist, her name on a cheap Dollar Store nameplate at the front desk.

They stuck around and questioned the young Hawaiian man who had discovered the bodies, who turned out to be the garage owner's son, who also worked at the shop. Having had come in early to finish up work on an old SVU for a customer that morning, and discovered the bodies; losing his only family.

Danny sent the carpooling cousins to the receptionist's home address from her license, while he decided to take up the charge of background on their victims.

While Danny wasn't a Wiz Kid with the Smart Table, and he honestly didn't even bother to try because he was sure it was just a matter of time before he did something that messed up the very expensive equipment with his 'dad-fingers'—and it simply wasn't worth Steve lording it over him (like with the swimming and the surfing), so he let it be. He knew how to work a regular (i.e. normal person) computer with a keyboard and mouse. He was adept with surveillance equipment, anything that was particular to his job as a detective, he just didn't see how he needed to be on a Toast-level of technological genius to do his job. He never saw a reason to. He'd only gotten a touch-screen cell phone and learned to text using his dad-fingers under the future pressure of Grace growing up in this futuristic 21st Century—a very daunting reality of his baby becoming a teenager.

All their desk computers were connected to the same network, so he saw no reason to have to use the Smart Table, with its touch screen and multiple monitors, not unless the team was having a conference about a case, and then either of the cousins handled the Smart technology.

Back in his Camaro, he pulled onto the west entrance of the Likelike Highway and made short work of the two-lane stretch before he hit the Kaneohe Interchange and turned back into the thicker flow of the H-3 as the morning aged. Dry-mouthed, he claimed his second coffee from the otherwise empty cardboard tray, cracking open the plastic lid and taking a gulp of the cold coffee.

His stomach was already feeling weird as he approached the Tetsuo Harano Tunnels in the opposing direction. His experience through the tunnel differed from his first run through. Now after 8:00 a.m., the sun was flying higher in the sky, having surpassed the ridge of the Ko'olau Mountains and shone brightly into the Hālawa Valley.

He wiped sweaty palms separately on the thighs of his trousers as he travelled the dim enclosed tunnel, his eyes trained on his 'light at the end of the tunnel'. He reached for his cold coffee in the holder of his center consol, swallowing with a dry throat. He took a swig, swishing it around in his mouth a moment before swallowing. He'd just put the disposable cup into the holder as he came to the end of the tunnel—unprepared for the harsh, blinding glare of the Hawaiian sun.

A bout of disorientation clipped him, leaving him to rapidly blink the spots of sudden darkness-to-brightness away, gripping the steering wheel tightly as if to steady himself as he eased off the gas peddle. Glad no one crashed into him and just honked their displeasure at his sudden lapse in speed, swerving around him.

Before he could even consider pulling over onto the shoulders of the viaduct, his vision cleared. His breath gave a little uneven stutter at the abruptness of whatever just happened. He shook it off, adjusting his speed again, sure it was just low blood sugar that was getting to him. Easy enough fix, he was sure. He ate the last two pastries, finishing the rest of his cold coffee to force the dry treats the rest of the way down his gullet.

"That's better," he sighed, and settled back more comfortably in the seat. He blamed it on Steve; two months was a long time to get over an impression. It seemed pretty insistanr on giving Danny trouble.

But plying his stomach with pastries and cold coffee didn't seem to tame it like he had hoped. He toggled the windows down at the sudden flush of his skin, creating a cross breeze that cooled his sweaty face.

"You cannot be getting sick, Williams, not now!" he berated himself. It would be just his luck too, with Steve gone and him left in charge.

When he got back to the office he'd make sure to drink water and take a couple of ibuprofen and have some _chicken soup_ or something for lunch—fight this thing off before it would sink its hooks into him good.

He arrived back at the Palace without further incident, but for the jostle of the speed bump in the personnel parking lot out back that had him swallowing back a brief weakness of bile.

He got out of the Camaro with similar weak knees as at the crime scene and leaned back against his closed door as he inhaled evenly through his nose and out his mouth. Trying to shake of his nerves, he focused on the task that lay before him once he got his ass to the second floor and in the office. His first check would be into their dead gang member, see if he could get a current address on the guy. Determine if there was any reported gang activity having to do with the garage. Then he'd move onto the garage owner and the receptionist as Max did the gruelling task of three autopsies and Fong processed the evidence collected from the scene in the lab. Hopefully, they'd have something by the time that Chin and Kono returned from the woman's home and they conferenced around the Smart Table.

Having collected himself, he rubbed at his aching right ear and was about to push off from the car and head in when his cell rang. He dug it out of his pocket and answered it in a smug voice:

"Miss me already, babe?"

" _Just checking to make sure you haven't burnt down my house with your eggs... Or crashed the Camaro_ ," Steve supplied with cheek, " _You're a little out of practice, I would think."_

"And whose fault might that be, Commander Control-Freak? Two months, Steven. Two months!" his free hand flew. "What the hell?"

 _"You didn't seem to mind."_

Danny didn't respond to that and instead asked: "Aren't you supposed to be torturing our future Ninjas?" he switched the phone to his left ear.

" _I have been, for the last four hours. What have you accomplished today_?"

"Hey, I've been up since five if you must know."

" _Caught a case_?" Danny could hear the pique in his voice.

"The only reason I'd be up so early." He agreed.

" _Any leads_?" he asked instantly.

"Not yet, Mr. Nosy. I just got back to the Palace to run background. The cousins are checking out one of the victims' home address—"

" _ **One**_ _?_ "

"Yes, Steven. One." Danny counted New-Jersey's as he wondered how long it would take before—

 _"How many?"_

Three. It was three New-Jersey's. Just like the number of victims.

Danny shook head with a smile. "Don't worry, Steve, I'm sure it won't be an open-and-shut case. Wouldn't want you to feel like we could do it that much faster without your insane antics." He patronized, "Might take us the week, longer even, then you can come flying in and save the day in a single shootout."

" _Danno... I can't actually fly."_ Of course that was what he'd bump on.

Danny couldn't stop the snort of laughter fast enough. "Hasn't stopped you from _trying,_ " he complained.

 _"Watch each other's backs_." There was a quiet sigh. " _Try not to get shot while I'm not there_ ," Steve said.

"Always." He swore. "And only when I have you to patch me up."

He disconnected the call, slipping the cell back into his pocket and pushed off the car, heading for the Palace. He had work to do, and some stupid little stomach bug or whatever the hell this was, wasn't going to interfere.

...

After having dug up an address for their gangster and giving the cousins a call before they could head back to HQ, it was a couple hours before Chin and Kono arrived back at the Palace, and Danny was well into his background search of their three victims.

Post getting gifted with a coffee upon their return, they gathered round the Smart Table in conference to share their gathered Intel.—and he'd been hanging around Steve too long.

"So?" Danny single-clapped his hands. "Find anything with those home-visits?" he leaned forward on the thick ledge of the table.

"Well, our resident gangster's place should probably be condemned—you two sharing a realtor, Danny?" Kono joked.

"Har har," Danny deadpanned in response. "I'm technically classified as homeless right now, yak it up. So, did you find anything at the address that I gave you—other than bad realty practices?"

"His 'roommates'," Chin air-quoted clearly with tone alone, "Weren't very useful, weren't really happy to see a bunch of cops, but—"

"I can be very persuasive," Kono chimed in.

"I sicced Coz on them, and that loosened their reservations a bit." Chin agreed. "There wasn't a definitive answer on recognizing either the owner or the receptionist when we showed their photos, but apparently our gangster had an ex that he was 'upset' about that may or may not be our victim."

"When we showed the gangster's photo to the receptionist roommate, there was confirmation that he was indeed the ex, but the roommate said she was seeing someone else now—someone older." Kono said that in a hush of conspiracy. Danny could practically hear the unsaid _ooooh._

"That seems to line up with what I found on our gangster's Facebook Page," he nodded. "But there was no sign of him on hers. She obviously deleted them after they broke up. But her relationship status said: _it's complicated._ " Danny reported.

"In reference to this 'older man,' perhaps." Chin asked, "You find anything else?"

"Yeah," Danny nodded. "I'll bring it up. Alright, let's see." He squinted at the large touch screen. "I wanna say this one." His finger primed over an icon, hovering as he looked at the cousins across from him with question-mark-brow.

"No, brah. No." Kono told him softly, shaking her head like she was looking at a sad little kitten. She gently took his hand, patting it consolingly as she gave it back to him. "Just, don't worry about it." She rubbed his shoulder soothingly. "We got you,"

Danny pursed his lips at them in a grump-response as the pair shared a quiet smirk. "I think that was a little overboard,"

"It really wasn't," Kono told him. "You're one-touch away from crashing the system."

"Alright, I get it. I'll keep my dad-hands to myself," he crossed his arms, tucking his hands in his elbows, "Happy?

Chin gave him a encouraging smile. "Alright, let's see what we got." With lightning fast fingers, he pulled up all of Danny's information from his computer desktop, and threw it over to the display screens set up in a semi-circle around one end of the Smart Table.

"So, the financials for the garage are all clean. The business isn't overly profiting, with just some outstanding bills, otherwise. In the event of his death, the business does transfer over to the son's name, but it doesn't seem like motive to me." He stared at the screens, reviewing his finds. "I went through the others' financials as well, but money doesn't seem to be motivation of this crime."

"Crime of passion?" Kono suggested. "You're thinking lovers quarrel?" she asked. "The jealous ex, and the boss getting caught in the crosshairs."

"That seems like the current top motive," Chin agreed.

"All we have to do is find out who this 'older guy' the receptionist was seeing, see if he can tell us anything." Danny uncrossed his arms and tucked his hands in his pockets. They shared a moment of silence between them, before the blond detective claimed: "Lunch break!" The cousins looked at him with raised brows. "What? Hopefully, by the time we're done, Max or Fong might have something."

"Alright," the Hawaiian man approved. "None of us really got eat a proper breakfast this morning, we're all just running on pretty much coffee at the moment. Back in an hour, see if we can come up with any leads." The cousins left together.

Danny left the office, but instead of taking his car, he decided he was going to walk. There was this pretty good deli a few blocks away that was pretty good, and he thought that the fresh air might help his predicament. Though he felt pretty good right now, his prior feeling of malaise had vanished after speaking with Steve.

He waited in the short line in the shop, absently rubbing at his ear and decidedly did not want to think about the sort of implication that might be, but realized with relief that he was already feeling better _before_ Steve had called. He was not getting sick because SuperSEAL was away. Steve didn't shield him from danger, the crazy man put him into the path of bullets and in car-chases.

When he got to the counter, he ordered a small sandwich and a large thing of soup, and sat at one of the empty tables. He scoffed at himself for thinking that Steve's presence was some sort of deterrent for the stomach bug—but the man was definitely a test on the blond's patience. Was probably wearing at his immune system while he was at it just for good measure, because Steve liked to be annoyingly thorough like that.

He'd just gotten back to the parking lot at the Palace when his cell rang. Max. The M.E. was finally done with the autopsies of the three victims and had found some interesting things. Danny told him he'd be over right away. He hung up and was about to call Chin and Kono as he dug his keys out of his pocket when his cell rang again. Answering this time, it was Fong from the crime lab with some results. Danny told the forensic scientist he'd send the cousins right over. He hung up, settling in his car as he sent a text to the cousins.

They were definitely going to be busy for the rest of the night, following up on whatever Max and Fong had discovered.

Danny clipped on his seatbelt and started the car, reversing from his spot and pulling to the curb, turned on his blinker, and waited for a break in traffic. There was a slight bump as the Camaro made the transition and he wiped the sudden sweat from the upper lip.

"Come on!" he complained, toggling down his window to get some air movement. He was fine just a minute ago!

It was only a ten minute drive to the morgue and he was already antsy to get there. He clicked on the air conditioner for double measure, sighing in relief as he felt the fresh sweat finally starting to cool on his face as he pulled into his destination.

He was more then happy to jump out into the open air and visit him some bodies in the cool morgue. All to happy to focus on the case and not whatever the hell was wrong with him.

"Hey, Max." Danny greeted the doctor. "Tell me what we're dealing with here."

...

It was little over an hour later that the current three-fourths of the Five-0 team gathered once more around the majestic Smart Table in conference to share information on their case with full stomachs.

"All the fingerprints collected at the scene were all identified. Our three victims, obviously. All the employees at the garage, some of whom have minor records but nothing overtly that points them to being suspects of our murder since we've concluded that our motive doesn't appear to be money." Chin spoke. "And none appear to be the 'older man' that the receptionist appears to be dating, assuming we're estimating older as mid-thirties and higher. No employee is aged over forty, but for the owner."

"Do we suspect that the owner if this 'older man'?" Danny voiced. "He appears to be the only 'older man' in her life. They worked together, saw each other everyday..."

"Crime of passion!" Kono nodded. "Nothing would really change from what we said earlier. The receptionist broke it off with the gangster, hooked up with the boss. Our gangster was the jealous type and confronted them at the office last night. To further back this up... the Taser that was collected at the scene was covered in the receptionist's prints and the DNA on the probes are a match to the owner's."

"What did Max say about the bodies, Danny?" Chin questioned.

"Max puts time of death really close, on top of each other. All our vics died within moments of each other, seconds even." Danny told them, his arms crossed over his chest and his hip leant against the edge of the Table facing the multiple monitors as Kono pulled up the autopsy photos that Max had sent and threw them fluidly from the Table to the screens. Giving each victim there own screen, with the corresponding evidence that Fong had processed.

"The causes?"

"The owner died of a heart attack, which appears to have been caused by the Taser," he nodded at Kono. "Which apparently, was triggered at the receptionist's hands…."

Kono furrowed her brows. "That would throw our working theory in the trash. If it the receptionist was the one that shot the Taser and killed the owner."

"Misfire?" Chin wondered aloud for the group.

"There were no other prints found of the Taser?" Danny questioned.

"Just hers," Kono answered.

"What was the cause of death for our other two victims?" Chin crossed his own arms over his chest, his eyes intent as he surveyed the displayed photos in contemplation.

"Our gangster was killed with blunt force trauma," Danny said.

"By the heavy wrench discovered at the scene." Kono put said pictured evidence at the fore of the gangster's monitor. "There was no usable prints, but blood and hair were collected from the teeth. They match."

Danny nodded. "So, either the receptionist or the owner could have killed him if we're thinking that there was no one else in the back office with them."

"So how did the receptionist die?"

"There was some bruising on her arm that suggested she was grabbed roughly, and cause of death was blunt force trauma to the back of the head."

"There was blood traces taken from the sharp, metal corner of one of the tables in the office that matched her DNA. It was right where she was found," Kono reported, bring up a wider view of the receptionist of the crime scene; the position of the body in correspondence with the table.

"Bring up an encompassing shot of the scene?" Danny requisitioned. Kono put it center screen.

They all stared at it in silence, wondering what the hell had gone on in that back office last night.

Danny shook his head and ran a hand over his hair, rubbing at his ear before his dropped his hands. "What the hell happened?" he voiced what they were all thinking. "This is insane."

Chin took a deep, centering breath. "If we're all sold on the motive being jealousy, and our initial perpetrator being the gangster then... perhaps he had enough, and went searching for them. He found them at the garage, perhaps catching them in an intimate moment."

"He gets angry," Kono followed along her cousin's lines of theory, "Grabs the receptionist, hence the bruising. Then what? The owner grabs up the wrench and kills him in self defence? But then why did the receptionist Taser him?" she asked in confusion.

"Maybe she managed to grab it before the owner beat her ex, intending to use it on him. It's intense in there, they're in close quarters... she gets in the way of the attack, pressed the trigger in reflex. Hits the owner even as he was taking out her ex, takes him out, and stumbles into the table. Boom, bam, bing." He slapped the back of his hand to his open palm thrice.

"Wow." Kono breathed in disbelief and amazement. "That is... Crazy bad luck.."

"I think that's putting it mildly, Coz." Chin murmured mildly.

"Remind me not to get involved with a love triangle," Danny said. The cousins gave him twin looks. Oh, but of course; his affair with Rachel a little while back. "Trust me, I learned my lesson with that. It was not fun."

"One of our more crazy cases, and Steve missed it." Kono smiled, "He'll think we're making it up just to screw with him being gone the week."

"I promised Steve we wouldn't solve this case until he got back from drills so he could swoop in a solve it with at least one shoot-out to satisfy his delicate ego," there was not an ounce of disappointment or regret in the blond's tone as he smirked.

"Boss'll be disappointed," Kono chuckled.

"Well, I for one, am not. SuperSEAL is just going to have to deal with the disappointment." Danny brushed his hands of the foregone conclusion. "Let's fill out those reports, dot some I's and cross some T's and we can all go home early."

"Now that's a plan that's worth putting effort into," Kono agreed and the three of them split off from the Smart Table, all diverging to different corners of HQ where their offices lay.

At his desk, Danny picked up his desk phone, cradling the receiver between his right shoulder and ear, quickly switching it over to his left as he called HPD and got a few units to pay a closing visit to the victims' families to inform them of the case closed. After hanging up, he pulled up a fresh window and started to type out his report.

Chin Ho and Kono handed in their reports a couple hours later, biding the detective a good evening as it was closing six o'clock. Finished his own report, Danny read over the cousins'. For an inexplicable reason he felt uneasy about leaving the office and going back to Steve's, so he stayed in his office, doing a few hours of busywork that really just made more space on his own and Steve's desks before he made himself leave as it neared nine.

Settled in the Camaro, he released why he preferred to stay in the office against going back to Steve's. As soon as the engine purred to life, the rumbling gently vibrating through the bucket seat, he got queasy.

He gritted his teeth in anger as he shifted gears and pulled from the Palace private lot. He toggled both windows down, and definitely became possessed briefly with Steve's driving manners as he went well over the speed limit. The buffeting cross breeze seemed to help little as he kept his lips tightly pursed and breathed through his nose, fighting the climbing nausea.

His driving wasn't helping these feelings, but he wanted to be back on solid ground as soon as possible—and that meant driving Steve-style. He was not liking where his assumptions were taking him on the matter of this sudden sickness he was experiencing. The conclusion was just unacceptable to the Williams man.

But finally, blessedly, he pulled haphazardly into Steve's driveway and next to the man's blue Silverado. Struggling with his seatbelt after he put his car in park and shut it off, fighting the gag that had been building for the last several minutes.

He stumbled from the car and into the wall of shorn hedges that separated the driveway from the little plot of grass of the front yard. He gagged and retched, bringing up the acrid taste of stomach acid to the back of his throat, but somehow managed not to actually vomit and break his vomit free since '86 record, though he was sure being ill didn't count. He spat onto the ground.

"Bastard!" he cursed, finally straightening and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He took a couple deep breaths to push any remaining nausea and light-headedness away before he leaned back into the car to get his keys from the ignition and close the door, using the key fob to lock up the Camaro.

He stumbled to the front door, using his own key to unlock the door. Steve had given it to him even before Danny had been crashing on the couch for the last two months. He couldn't exactly remember when, but he thought it was around the same time that the blond had finally given-in and gone on the disastrous hike that had them come across a body and Steve take a tumble down a cliff that left him with a concussion and broken arm, and needing to be air-lifted out of there.

He immediately cut through the living room to the kitchen, taking a glass from the rack and filling it in the sink. He guzzled two glasses of water before he finally leaned back against the counter to catch his breath and drank the third more slowly.

"This is ridiculous. This is not happening," he muttered to himself, setting the empty glass on the counter and striding through to the office and where Steve's laptop lay. Sitting in the chair, he woke the computer up and immediately opened the internet, typing into the browser. He quickly clicked onto the WebMD.

He typed into the symptoms textbox, all that had happened since he was woken on that morning and drove to the crime scene. The nausea, the sweats, that disorientation he'd felt when coming out of the tunnel as he drove. The weak knees after he got _out_ of the car.

Closing his eyes briefly, he hit enter.

"Sonofabitch!" he cursed loudly as the page renewed and the top results were shown. Right there, at the top, in bold letters... **carsickness.** He closed the laptop lid with a snap and shoved it away from him. He planted his elbows on the edge of the desk, his head bowed forwards as his fingers clawed into his hair. "No, no, no, no, no." He repeated.

This simply couldn't be happening. And as much as anything in his life, he cursed McGarrett. This was the SEAL's fault, there was no doubt about it. "Two months. Two months!" Danny shouted at the empty house, finally raising his head before he pulled out all his hair.

Letting his indignity and anger rear its head, he pulled out his cell and speed-dialled Steve. He fumed as it rang, switching the phone to his left ear. He wasn't sure if he was expecting Steve to pick up or not.

"Probably practicing water torture on those poor SEALpups," Danny muttered. But then the line connected. "You son of a bitch, McGarrett." He said instantly before his partner could even take the breath to answer the phone.

There was a moment of shocked silence. " _I—what? Danno_?"

"You don't get to 'Danno' me right now." He waved his hand in denial.

" _Danny, what happened? I don't understand. What did I do? Are you okay? Grace_?"

"Grace is fine." Danny said instantly, deflating slightly at the mention of his baby girl. But a moment later, his anger was back again. "This has nothing to do with her. No, this is you—all you, McGarrett. I blame you." He jabbed his finger into the desk, imaging it the man's chest. "This is all your fault." And too irritated, he wasn't able to form it into proper words, the blond hung up.

He leaned back with a groan, rubbing his ear in annoyance as he glared at the ceiling. "Carsickness. Unbelievable!" he stood up abruptly from the chair and stalked back to the kitchen, his phone shoved in his pocket.

He was regretting calling Steve a minute ago in every shape and form. He was sure it was going to bite him in the ass later.

He slammed the cupboards to let out some of his frustrations as he searched for something to eat that didn't require effort or focus. Him and a stove right now would not be a good combination. He settled on a bowl of Cinnamon Crunch, eating it leaned against the counter. Glaring at nothing as he felt a headache build.

"No way in hell." He told the McGarrett Home with vehemence. Tomorrow he was going to wake up and he was going to drive—and he was **not** going to get sick. He was a Williams, he didn't get _car_ sick.

Finished his cereal, he was rinsing his bowl when his cell rang. Turning off the tap, he pulled it from his pocket and glared at the lit screen as Steve's named flashed. Danny was surprised that it took the anal man this long. He thought about answering it and giving his absent partner hell for not letting him drive for two months a putting him in this position, but then quickly thought better of it. There was no way anyone could find out about this, most of all Steve. So Danny took what little satisfaction he could at pressing Ignore and whatever confusion that struck with the SEAL.

Danny left his phone on the small island in the kitchen to put further distance between them and policed his weapon before he decided he'd have a shower, hopefully get rid of his headache before he went to bed. Then, he could start fresh in the morning without this 'carsickness' business.

He towelled his hair dry. The shower did seem to help ease the headache but he still felt a built pressure lingering on his right side. He opened the medicine cabinet and took a couple Advil, grabbing a couple Q-tips before he closed it. He grimaced as he cleaned his right ear, but didn't pay much attention as he threw the swabs outs.

After brushing his teeth, he was finished, and in a pair of sweats and a tee, he plunked onto his bed at the couch. He plugged his headphones into his cell that he'd remembered to grab from the kitchen, ignoring the unread message from Steve and selected the radio app and his proffered classic rock station.

He turned off the lamp, laid down, and put the headphones on. Sealing out the waves and everything else, and putting him in his own space. It was still pretty early, not even quite midnight yet, so he didn't immediately fall asleep, especially with his aggravation towards this carsick concept, but it was nice to just lay there, listening to tunes. Drowning the thoughts away, even as the pressure in his head lingered.

When he finally fell asleep, he turned restless halfway through the night, leaving him tossing and turning. Kicking the blanket off and hugging it equally as he seemed to be hit with interchangeable fits of chills and flushes.

He awoke groggily and disoriented to the sound of ringing in his ear, and he scrambled around without coordination for his phone. He found it, swiping to answer as he managed to get his left earphone off and held it there.

"'Llo?" he croaked. But the ringing seemed to continue, but in conjunction with a dial tone. "'Ello?" he pulled it from his ear and stared at in confusion with blurry eyes. "Ugh." He groaned, dropping back down onto the couch and putting his phone back onto the table, but sure he missed by the sound of the _thunk._

He felt like shit and he could still hear the ringing that wasn't his phone. Maybe Steve's hard-line? That sounded right. He felt grimy with sleep-sweat, and the right side of his head felt clogged. He gave another moan, scrubbing a tired hand over his face, trying to wake himself up, letting the motion card his fingers through his messed hair, taking the headphones the rest of the way off his head.

He let out a cry of shock at the sudden pain that radiated through his aching ear, inside it, and briefly down his neck behind his ear. He didn't move until the ache died down, but didn't leave, before he managed to leverage himself to the sitting position. He leaned heavily back against the couch and tentatively reached for his right ear. Wrong move. Wrong move! He was not going to attempt to touch it again, it was very clearly a bad idea, even to his clogged head.

Danny didn't know how long he stayed like that, but he jolted at the sudden alarm on his cell. He scrambled for his headphones, pulled on the cord to retracted his cell phone like a fishing line. He swiped the alarm off with his thumb, and leaned back again

Sick. He was sick. "Nooo," he bemoaned. "Not _now."_ He was in charge of Five-0 right now in Steve's absence, he didn't have time to be under the weather. It was 7 o'clock in the morning; he just needed to drink half a bottle of DayQuil and he'd be good to go. He might even manage to make himself a cup of coffee before he left, that would definitely enliven him up.

He pushed himself to his feet, definitely took it to fast. He almost took a header into the coffee table as the room spun and he was hit with a sudden sense of vertigo like he'd been whacked upside the head with a bat. His stomach turned and nausea climbed his throat. Somehow, he was able to keep it at bay, and held his arms out in balance until the floor asserted itself into a somewhat solider form.

"Whoa." Definitely got up to fast. He gave himself another minute before he made the slow, wobbly route around the coffee table and to the downstairs bathroom. He wasn't happy to admit that he didn't think he could do the stairs without some minor injury or looking like an idiot.

At the bathroom sink, he splashed cool water on his face, rinsed his mouth and drank a couple handfuls, before he straightened, smoothing his wet hands through his troll hair, smoothing it out. He blinked the blur from his eyes, griping the edges of the sink for balance as he looked at his appearance.

Definitely haggard; his cheeks were a little flushed in an unhealthy way, his eyes a little glassy. Without a doubt, he caught something. And it was an absolute relief and joy for his unfocused mind to realize that he was **not** carsick yesterday; it was just this bug taking ahold of him.

He opened the medicine cabinet and found the blue bottle of DayQuil. Like promised, he took _two_ capfuls of the stuff. He put it back and closed the cabinet, just as his stomach churned. Like a frenzy of piranha. He barely got the toilet seat up before it was coming back up, stumbling down on the tile hard enough to send a twinge through his bum knee as he was swamped with dizziness that made him more sick.

Flushed and finished, but exhausted, his stayed on the floor, his arm stretched the length of the bowl, he laid his head down only to flinch as the pain in his right ear flared. Groaning, he pushed from the toilet and sat back against the tub.

This was not like any bug he'd experienced before. He'd been dizzy before, but never to this level of disorientation and degree . And the pain in his ear, the pressure that only seemed to clog the right side of his head was new.

He groaned. "Crap." He couldn't go into work like this and he was seeing a visit to the clinic in his very near future in result. "God damnit."

He used the tub ledge to climb to his feet, and waited against the wall for the change in position to balance out before he moved. His bag was right there so he changed first into a pair of jeans and a tee before he made his way back to the couch for his cell. He sat on the arm so there wouldn't be that much of a difference to make his light-headed when he stood again. He called a cab because there was no way that he could drive the Camaro. He knew that he wasn't struck with a sudden bout of carsickness from lack of driving for two months, but with this vertigo, he wasn't going to risk it. He made sure he had his wallet and keys, but left his gun and badge at the house.

He sent a quick text to Chin saying he was going to be in late as he walked down the walk, and nearly careened into the hedges for his troubles of trying to multitask and made himself unbalanced instead. He saw there were several messages from Steve, but decided he'd read them while he was stuck in the waiting room.

...

Danny may have forgotten about Steve's messages as he sat in the waiting room, trying to concentrate on filling out the admission form on the clipboard he'd been handed. Leaning over it in his lap made the pressure in his head escalate and holding it up to chest level tired his arms way too fast, so he opted with an in-between by using the chair armrest.

He knew better this time when he went to stand up. He treated it like a concussion, and rose slowly, evenly, with level breaths, a tight grip on the armrest, and a steadying one briefly on the wall next to his chair, eyes closed until the vertigo washed down so it wasn't looking like he was living in a seven-dimension staircase painting.

Despite all of this, he was still unstable as he crossed what felt like a large open stretch of floor to the nurses station, but was no more fifteen feet, to hand in his clipboard. There were other patients in the waiting room, some waiting family members, other injured people waiting to be seen. Danny was by no means more immediate than a sniffling preteen with what looked like a broken wrist, or the guy with a bloody rag around his hand.

He griped the edge of the counter, attempting to get his equilibrium back on-center, his knuckles turning white. He was in the way, there was someone waiting to talk to the nurse—and he forced himself to move despite not being ready. He got three unsteady steps away, the floor spun out from under his loafers, a bright yellow wet-floor sign he hadn't seen before intercepted his stumble. The floor came up to meet him with a dizzying speed, slapping him in the face. There was a rush of startled movement around him. A warmth on the bottom half of his face that might have been blood (for the pain in his face) or vomit (with the sudden burning in the back of his throat)—then nothing.

...

Danny turned his head on the elevated pillow, trying to relieve what felt like a steady pressure on the right side of his head, only to wince at the stab of pain at his left temple. He grimaced, feeling the radiating heat at the center of his face with ache. He cracked his eyes open. Last he remembered, he was in the hospital, and sure enough, the curtained off area and railed bed seemed to support that.

But the sight of Steve in camo sitting at his bedside on a rolly-stool had him blinking in confusion. He scrunched his brows, which did not work with his pounding headache. "St've?"

"Yeah, buddy." The relieved worry he thought he saw in his partner's hazel-grey eyes vanished as the SEAL glowered at him. "I'm here."

"What are you doing here?" he automatically took the plastic cup of lukewarm water Steve poured. "You are _here_ , right?" he took a sip of tepid water. "'Cause if 'm sick enough to hallucinate you, then I really do need to get my head checked out." He handed the water back after another sip for his gummy throat, with a slightly wavering hand.

Steve didn't answer his question as he took the cup and set in on the bed table. "You _did_ faint and face plant onto the floor from what I was told by the nurse at the station—so maybe."

"I did **not** _faint_ , alright, Steven?" Danny held up that same finger, his eyes a cross between a glare and a squint. "I _tripped_ and face planted." He sliced his hand through the air in a short cut that wouldn't jolt his shoulder, and therefore, his head. "I didn't faint. I was _dizzy_ , which is—"

"Is not much better than fainting," Steve interrupted him.

"—a step _above_ fainting." He pointed upward with a prompt twist of his hand.

" _Dizzy._ " Steve repeated forcefully, stopping the blond on his inhale to 'state' things further.

"Yeah." Danny dropped his arm and relaxed back onto the bed, because he really felt weak limbed and if he kept his arm up any longer Steve was sure to notice the tremble. "Dizzy."

Steve didn't appear very happy with the vague answer and stared at him like he could pick his brain apart to reveal the deeper truth that Danny was apparently unwilling to elaborate on. Danny stared back with half-lidded eyes, really not wanting to move for fear of the nausea rising that was simmering in the back of his throat.

"What are you doing here?" Danny repeated as it seemed to click that Steve was _here_. With a feeling hand, he found the nurse's button and pressed it, better get this over with. "Aren't you supposed to be at Pearl, testing the Navy's limits on inhuman treatment on your SEALpups that for legal reasons is referred to as 'extreme' training—like the CIA calls it 'extreme' interrogation for legal reasons, too?"

"'Extreme' Interrogation. That's good." He muttered. "Well," he crossed his arms. "My appearance at your medical beside is quite simple, Danno. You see... when your unconscious at the hospital, they call your emergency contact. So there I was busy with some 'extreme' training, preoccupied 'cause my partner calls abruptly and just as abrupt, reams me out, hangs up. I try and call back and I get no answer. Convince myself everything is _fine_ despite my gut is saying everything to the contrary; about ready to go AWOL from Pearl because there's no way they'd give me leave because my partner won't answer his phone after an angry hang-up—and then the next call I get is that you're in the ER, unconscious!"

Danny blinked at him slowly. "You were worried about me?" he smirked. It was a valid remark, but it also distracted him from all the things he should feel guilty about that Steve admitted in his frustration. But then he remembered _why_ he had made that abrupt call and the scale levelled out again.

"Danny!" Steve stood abruptly, his hands thrown up. "Of cour—"

The curtain around the bed was suddenly pulled open, interrupting them. "It's good to see your awake, Mr. Williams. I'm Dr. Warren." A man in a doctor's coat stepped in and closed the curtain behind him again. "You had us a little worried with that fall in the waiting room. How are you feeling?" he went around to the opposite side of Steve, oblivious or ignoring what might have been heard through the curtain.

"Headache," Danny didn't so much as turn his head, as shift his gaze. "Nauseas." He admitted. Doc raised the head of the bed. Danny's vision swam as he was swamped with sudden dizziness, swallowing convulsively against the sudden influx of saliva as the nausea factor upgraded. "Dizzy." He squeezed his eyes closed.

Steve's lips pursed into a firm line as he watched Danny pale, sitting back onto the stool.

"Nausea and dizziness are common after a head wound." The doc said. "Can you open your eyes for me?"

"Had 'em before the fall." Danny told him, but he cracked his eyes.

A penlight was flashed into his eyes that had him seeing spots. "Pupil response is still fine. You _don't_ have a concussion."

Danny groaned, rubbing his eyes. That did not help with his orientation of being halfway vertical. The heel of his hand knocked his nose and he gave a curse.

"Your nose softened half your fall. Luckily, it wasn't broken, you just bleed. But it will be sore and tender." Warren told him. "I've had a look at your admission chart... this started happening yesterday? The dizziness?"

"Yeah." Danny finally opened his eyes and took the cup that Steve silently offered him again. He drank half the cup. "It was nothing big. Just some nausea... after I drove." He did not look at Steve. "Maybe a bit weak limbed afterward. I guess it progressed a little through the day. Thought it was... carsickness." He grimaced at saying it out loud and felling embarrassed as he finally shot a look at his partner. It didn't help that Steve was looking a little agape at this revelation.

He was shocked. Surprised, of course. But now, it clicked into place why the abrupt, angry call. Then the refusal to answer his call-backs. "Danno—"

"Not now, Steven." Danny muttered. He focused back on the doctor. "Nothing else happened after I got home." He went on, "Showered, went to bed... but the morning was another story. My head was stuffy, there was a pressure in my head. My _ear_ was on fire. That was when the vertigo _really_ started. I tried to take some DayQuil but I just puked that up. Realized it probably _wasn't_ just some stupid bug and came here."

"You said your ear hurt?"

Danny gave a verbal response instead of nodding. "It was just an ache yesterday, but when I rubbed it this morning it burned and really hurt."

"Alright, let's have a look." He took the scope from the holder at the head of the bed on the wall above Danny's bed and turned Danny's head until he faced Steve directly. "Your ear hurting can be a very important detail in finding out what's wrong with you." He peered into Danny's ear through the scope. "I can see some inflammation and fluid build-up..." Danny resisted the urge to rub his ear as the doctor straightened.

"What's the diagnosis, doc?" Danny quipped.

"From your list of symptoms; from the ear to the nausea and vertigo this is all seems to be pointing towards **viral neuritis** —"

"Viral what?" Danny questioned, sharing a confused look with Steve.

"Viral neuritis or labyrinthitis. It's a type of ear infection—"

"Ear infection?!" the blond sputtered. "All of this," he waved his hands, mostly at himself, "is because of an _ear infection_?"

Warren nodded. "It's an infection of the vestibular nerve—the branch of nerves and canals in your ear that affects your posture and balance—i.e the vertigo, which would make you nauseas and so on. You say you at first thought it was carsickness?" Danny nodded. "The vibrations of the engine would have exacerbated the symptoms, the passing scenery in your peripheral would have contributed to your disorientation—mimicking the symptoms of carsickness because they would lessen after you got out of your car. The sudden onset like you described from this morning makes me believe that you're in the acute phase, which is good because we've caught this early. I want to do some more tests to confirm just to be sure, but I'll give you a some antiemetic to help with nausea."

It was a long hour later that Danny was less nauseas, reclining 'comfortably', a warm cloth laid over his sore ear after they had flushed it with a saline solution as precaution, a cocktail IV of antiviral and antibiotics in his arm to combat the confirmed diagnoses of viral neuritis, a light shot of pain killers—and Steve for company.

"This is all your fault," Danny told Steve promptly as the doctor and nurse left.

"What?" Steve scoffed. "How is this my fault? You have an _ear infection_ , Danno—"

"Viral neuritis, acute phase." Danny corrected.

"Just because you use the medical term, doesn't mean it's still not an ear infection—acute phase." He mocked.

"Whatever we're calling it—it's still your fault, McGarrett." He insisted.

Steve crossed his arms, cocked his brow and canted his head lightly. "Pray tell, Daniel. How is this my fault?"

"You heard the doctor, didn't you? It was those headphones that you gave me—"

"Those headphone did _**not**_ _cause_ your ear infection, Danny. They may not have 'helped,' I'll concede to that one. But they did not cause this. Alright? It was just a bad thing that happened and it sucks, but there's nobody to blame here." Steve reasoned calmly and rationally.

Danny really wanted to make a face at the man, but he knew any over-emphasized contortion of his face would just twinge his still tender nose, which in turn, made his headache throb. "Two months, Steven. I haven't been able to drive my own car for two months because your anal ass commandeered my Camaro since I've been staying with you. Now you're gone for the week and I finally get to drive, but now I'm not allowed to operate _any_ vehicles for at least the next two weeks until the vertigo is gone." He flailed his arm, indicating beyond the hospital walls, "This place is cursed!"

Steve chuckled. "Guess Hawaii mojo just likes me better."

"You can have it! I just want to drive my car, that's it!"

"No driving, doctor's orders." He admonished, not doing very well to mask his amusement.

"You suck, McGarrett!" Danny tossed the empty plastic cup from the table at his head, which it bounced off harmlessly back onto the bed, and the man didn't even blink. "I hate you so much right now."

"No, you love me." Steve countered, easily setting the cup back upright on the table. "I'm an awesome best-friend, even if you throw plastic cups at me and nag me 24/7."

"I don't nag!" Danny promptly nagged with a grin. "I'm just trying to give you Neanderthal an education, for in which I get shot at for my troubles."

"For in which, huh?" he replied in amusement.

"For in which, you Neanderthal animal, steal my car." He agreed.

"I get carsick if I don't drive." He reminded the blond easily and without fail.

Danny scoffed. "I had a little experience with carsickness recently—and you do. not. have. it." He punctuated each word with a poke to the SEAL's knee, which was the closest thing he reach of the infuriating man. "You are just a control freak."

"I can be both." Steve protested with a spark in his hazel-grey eyes. "And don't worry, I'll drive you home when you get released."

"I took a cab here. I wasn't going to drive my car like this. I probably wouldn't have even been able to pull out of the driveway. I almost fell into the hedges trying to walk and text Chin," he muttered that last bit, but Steve seemed to hear it anyway, he always did.

"What?" he laughed. "You almost fell into the hedges?"

Danny narrowed his eyes before he suddenly got a sly look on his face as he smirked.

Noticing, Steve stopped laughing and asked slowly, "What?"

"Speaking of your hedges..."

"What did you do to my hedges, Danno?"

The smirked turned into a smug grin. "Puked in your Martha Stewart hedges, didn't I?" it was a little white lie, he actually managed **not** to puke, but he kind of wished he had by the look on Steve's face.

"That's not something to be proud about, Danny!"

Danny rolled his eyes. "Untwist the panties, McGarrett. My record remains unbroken, vomiting while ill doesn't count anyways. Scored on your toilet, though, didn't I?"

Steve looked at him for a moment, before he simple moved on with, "Speaking of Chin..." in reference to _several_ sentences ago, "How'd you hide your 'carsickness' from the cousins? Surely, they would have noticed."

The blond man shrugged, adjusting the warm cloth back over his ear as it slipped with the movement. "It wasn't bad in the morning, so there was nothing really wrong when I got to the crime scene. No one was there when I drove back to the Palace to do background. The same went with driving to the morgue and back. Then the only other driving was back home."

"Didn't Kono or Chin find it a little bit odd that you didn't insist on going on all the home interviews or chasing leads?" Steve wondered. "Driving as much as possible?"

"Maybe there not as good detectives as we thought," he joked. "We should look into that."

Steve shook his head with a light chuckle. "What is it that you always yap at me every time I get injured?"

"This is not even close to the same thing. I'm not injured—"

Steve suddenly reached out toward his nose and Danny jolted, blocking the hand before the brunette could make the contact Danny knew hew wasn't going to actually make. It was instinct. "You were saying?"

"That happened _after_ and was a result of _illness_ not _injury_. There's a difference, Steven."

"So," he moved on, having made his point. "With so little driving, does that mean...

"That we solved the case?" Danny finished for him. "By late supper." He said proudly. "Reports and all. Go team!"

"What happened to stalling and then letting me swoop in to solve it?" he pouted for show and jest, but he was proud that his team solved the case so efficiently.

"Like I told Kono: I'm not disappointed with the quick outcome of the case, even if you would be. I think this was the fastest case in Five-0 history." He remarked. "Definitely a lot less messy and dangerous without you around. You sure you don't want to stick to drills a Pearl?" he teased.

"There's no Five-0 without the four of us."

"Yeah, yeah. Ohana and all that." Danny's tone was dismissive, but the smile bellied agreement with the man's comment. There was a quiet moment between them, before the blond filled it, taking in the tall man's camo: "So, how long can you actually stay? You _do_ have to go back, don't you? You didn't worm your way out of duties again this time, did you?"

"No, I didn't, Daniel." Steve said haughtily. "After I got the call from the ER, I managed to get myself a day pass. I have to report back to base by..." he checked his watch, "1900. About 10 hours from now."

"Oooh. 1900, huh?" Danny mocked him.

Steve smirked. "It's 7 o'clock to you civilians."

"You and you're Army clock."

"I'm in the Navy, Danny!" he grouched. "And it's standard military time."

Danny rolled his eyes, despite the fact that it somehow made him dizzy. "You can be real cute sometimes, you know?"

"Shut up, Danno." But he chuckled. Then smirked, "You comfortable? Warm enough? Let me just tuck the blanket it..."

"Back off, McGarrett." Danny growled as the man leaned forward. "I'll will punch you, mark me."

Steve backed off with hands raised, still chuckling. "Alright. Alright."

Danny sighed and bemoaned, "I'm not allowed to wear the headphones for at least a month either. How am I supposed to sleep if I have to listen to the stupid waves all night?"

"You could always sleep in one of the spare rooms," Steve said casually. "Like I suggested since you first started crashing on the couch. You can't even hear them upstairs if you leave the window closed."

"I need to find a place already—"

"You're always welcome, Danno. For as long as you need. There's no rush, especially as you recover." Steve reminded him gently. It certainly wasn't the first time he told Danny there was no time-limit to his stay, but it certainly seemed to bear reminding. For whatever reason, Danny thought that sleeping in one of the spare bedrooms meant moving in so he insisted on crashing on the couch, because that was what he was doing, crashing until he found a place.

"I guess I could move upstairs— **temporarily**." He gave Steve a pointed point, though it was mostly through the bed railing than above it. "I'm not moving in with you, McGarrett, no matter how much you beg."

Steve held up his hands. "Wasn't begging. Just reminding my stubborn New Jersey partner."

"Hm. I am indeed from New Jersey, thanks for reminding me." His eyes were half-mast.

He'd been up even before his alarm has gone off and hadn't had a restful sleep to begin with. Nothing to eat, no coffee. And who knew being so dizzy could be so tiring. Unconsciousness definitely didn't count as a restful encounter, no matter how hard Steve insisted.

Just laying there, the disconnected hum of hospital noises beyond the closed curtain, the warm cloth easing the ache in his ear—it was easy not to fight the ebb lulling him under. His own heartbeat and Steve's even breathing a few feet away a natural white noise play list.

...

He woke up sometime later, a bit groggy, blurry-eyed, and with his earache back. Without thinking, he reached to rub it, only to be intercepted by a calloused hand and have it placed back down at his side.

"Here," what had previously thought to be some blurry, live green bush said, but was actually Steve said, and a moment later a nice warmth enveloped his right ear. "Better?"

"Mm." Danny agreed. "Steve?" he rubbed his eyes to clear them, and found Steve still sitting in the rolly-stool. "You're still here? What time is it?"

"Yes, I'm still here. Trying to get rid of me?"

"No, I'm just..."

"An orderly came by earlier," Steve told him as he still worked himself into completely wakefulness, "Left some crackers and Jell-o to line your stomach for when you woke up. Said to call when you were feeling up to more and they'd bring you some soup or something."

"Water and crackers, definitely no Jell-o." Danny agreed, shifting to a more comfortable, elevated position and managing to find one where the cloth didn't fall from his ear but he was upright enough not to have trouble eating and drinking. "It'd probably just make dizzy and nauseas."

Steve gave a light chuckle and gave him a plastic cup of water. Danny just murmured his thanks when his partner opened the little four pack of saltine crackers and gave it to him.

Danny drank and ate into silence, drinking three more cups of water as Steve gave him the second packet of crackers at request. He was probably going to have to pee soon and thought it was going to be fun getting out of bed and to the bathroom. He wondered almost amusedly if he would even be able to aim properly with his vertigo or if he'd just be forced to sit. Maybe they'd just get him a pee jug. The last thing he needed was to wet himself because he wasn't coordinated enough for the job.

"Oh," Steve commented, starting up the conversation again, "You know that whole 'not driving for at least two weeks thing or until your not vertigo-challenged'?"

"Yeah?" the inflicted man wondered warily.

"That also includes you being in the field."

"What?!" Danny exclaimed. "Your kidding me!"

"Nope." He shook his head. "Not until you can shoot straight. I don't want to get shot in the ass with friendly fire."

"Who said it would be friendly?" he muttered, knowing Steve would hear him; and by the chuff of amusement he did. "And even vertigo-challenged, that's better than having _no one_ out there to watch you back." He protested.

"Contrary to that superimposed ideology you single-handedly have of me—there isn't a shoot-out, car chase, or foot pursuit every time we go out into the field, Danny."

"Near enough it is! Your last excuse for not doing your reserve drills was because **you got injured on duty,** Steven!"

"A one off!" he protested.

"Which is kinda of funny in a not funny at all way," Danny just steamed on ahead of his protest, "Because you use those injuries to bag out of drills at Pearl, yet you continuously insist on going back into the field for the case."

"Exactly! The case, Danno." Steve made an agreeing gesture. "We're in the middle of a case, a critical juncture. I couldn't just leave you guys hanging. Besides... working a case is completely different than doing drills."

"Not the way _you_ work cases," the detective disagreed and they left it at that.

Steve glanced at his watch and sighed.

"Have to go?" Danny asked.

Steve nodded and stood, looking down at his partner, his hand resting casually on the bedrail. "Call if you—"

"What? I need help or something?" Danny mused. "You'll go AWOL from base, get into loads of shit because I what… fell down the stairs or something?"

Worry flared in the man's hazel-grey eyes. "Thanks for putting that image in my head."

Danny gave his eyes a light roll, soft enough to not even cause a quiver in his vision or stomach. "You wanted me upstairs..." he reminded.

Steve crossed his arms childishly over his chest. "I've changed my mind—"

"We're not five-years-old," Danny told him. And followed it up with, "Besides, no take-backs."

Steve snorted, then sighed. "Fine. At least promise you won't try and fall down the stairs?"

Danny scoffed. "Of course I'm not going to _try_ and _fall_ down the stairs."

"You know what I mean," he glowered and Danny flashed a smile in response.

"Besides, if that did happen," Danny told him reasonably, "You wouldn't be the first I called. I think an ambulance might just be a tad more useful—and quicker—in that movement. No offence to your SEAL practicality."

"I guess an ambulance would be better," he conceded the point good-naturedly. "But," he held up a finger, "Call me second, at least."

"You'll be called _first_ if I'm unconscious," he reminded.

"Don't remind me."

"Go." Danny told him in a gentle-fondness. "If your a minute late, they'll send the hounds."

"There will be trouble," Steve agreed on at least that. He patted the rail in parting. He paused at the part in the curtain, "Call me, update me?"

"Yes, mother." He chuckled. "I know you worry."

Steve gave an eye roll. "Love you, Danno. Don't accidentally die in my house, alright? Definite mood-killer."

Danny put a hand over his heart. "I can just feel that love, babe." He patted is chest. "Love you, too, buddy. I'll call; wouldn't want a SEALpup to kick your ass for all the worry."

Steve's departing chuckle faded into the hospital hum and Danny was left alone for the first time since regaining consciousness. He sighed and hummed to himself, plucking at the blanket, already bored without Steve's distracting presence.

His stomach gave a pang of hunger and he felt around for the page button without looking around. "Ear infection," he said to himself, his eye catching the only bright colour in his curtained cubicle besides the beige and washed out grey. A bright green Jell-o cup sitting next to the half empty water jug, plastic cup, and empty cracker wrappers.

He scooped it up and brought it eye level. He gave it a little shake as he waited and watched it jiggle within the confines of the disposable plastic container, feeling a little put off and definitely unsettled on a deeper, internal setting that Jell-o sometimes did when one was ill. You had to be in a mood for Jell-o and his certainly was not now.

"At least it wasn't car sickness," he scoffed out loud. Definitely.

[Aloha & Mahalo]

* * *

 **HAWAII . FIVE - 0**

So, this was giving me a really hard time, what with trying to go into detail about the Halawa Interchange and H-1, and Likelike Highway and all of that, and trying to find out where Piikoi Street is with no such luck [if you know, please tell me]—so that's my excuse for this taking a month and ten days.

Hoped you liked it and would please review. I was turning on and off frequently with writer's block on this one and was sure I lost Danny somewhere in the middle but I hope I brought it back in the end with Steve and got the partners bantering. Anyway, I'm just glad that I finally finished it.

My first intention for the cause of Danny's 'carsickness' was actually Steve having hacked into the headphones that he got for Danny and doing subliminal messaging in the music while he slept, but then decided that an ear infection is definitely more plausible so I switched to that and stuck with it.

* * *

 **HAWAII . FIVE - 0**

 **Deleted Bits & Pieces: [don't read if you don't want to]:**

 _..._

The lighting changed briefly as he followed the road through the Tetsuo Harano Tunnels that cut through the Ko'olau Mountains. Six lanes cast into darkness for thirty seconds, able to see 'the light at the end of the tunnel' the entire time. All the same... emerging on the other side, he wetted his palate with some coffee and turned on the radio to fill the quiet.

...

Max and his assistants loaded up the bodies, and left the scene for the morgue. And as CSU finished photographing and collecting evidence of the murder scene, the three members of Five-0 did their own walk-through, gathering their own impressions of the crime before they talked to the witness who had discovered (by the photos in the home) who appeared to be the husband, wife, and another unnamed man who didn't appear in any of the framed pictures.

...

Max and his assistants bag up the bodies and loaded them into the van for the doctor to autopsy at the morgue; and the three-fourths of Five-0 did a walk-through of the scene as CSU finished bagging, tagging, and shooting site.

Danny sent Kono and Chin off to check out the husband

"As I'm sure you can ascertain yourselves, we have three victims." Max gestured with a gloved hand. "Liver temperature and lividly puts their time of death between 12:00 a.m and this morning. From my preliminary examination, it appears our victims were killed with similar weapon, sharp-force weapons.

...

Danny had already sent the cousins off to the husband's work after Max had taken the bodies away and the three Task Force member did their own walk-through of the scene as CSU was finishing up. He talked to the woman who had discovered the murder scene and climbed into his own Camaro to head back to the Palace to look into the background of the three victims while they waited for Max to finish with the bodies and Fong to process the collected evidence.

...

he knew how to work a regular computer with a mouse and keyboard. All their desk computers were connected to the same network so he didn't have to worry about somehow screwing up the sensitive electronics with his "dad hands". Just as they weren't adept at touch-screens, he'd only learned to text under the future pressure of Grace becoming a teenager in the 21st Century. A very daunting fear.

...

and the three members did a walk through of the scene, before questioning on-scene the witnesses that the HPD officers

It was a suburban neighbourhood

Let alone the last time he'd actually drived.

Three dead bodies, the McGarrett Home to himself, driving his own car for the first time in two months

...

And Danny headed back to Iolani Palace to pull background on the three victims, focusing on the gang member to see if this had any connection gang movement

...

He took the turn-on to the Likelike Highway, going through the short two-laned tunnel that lasted under five-seconds before he drove onto the on-ramp at the Interchange, getting onto the H-3 Freeway

He took the turn onto the Likelike highway, going through the short two-laned tunnel before he drove onto the ramp to the H3, matching the heightened speed of the other drivers on the four-laned super way. The tunnel through the mountain a differing experience now that the sun was flying higher in the sky by 8 a.m.

...

By the time he took the westbound entrance to the Likelike Highway and picked up speed, going through the short turn-off tunnel, his mouth was dry. He picked out his second coffee from the otherwise empty cardboard tray and peeled back the tab, tacking a drink. He took the interchange for the H3, the opposing way of traffic running parallel on a separate viaduct through the jungle and mountainsides.

...

He waited in quiet mirth, wondering how long it took before the SEAL could abstain from his line of questioning. Honestly, it was rather short-fused for a Navy SEAL Commander.

...

OWNER AND RECEPTIONEST HAVING AN AFFAIR. GANGMEMBER IS EX TO RECEPTIONIST; RECENT. BUT RECEPTIONIST STARTED BACK UP WITH GANGBANGER. OWNER FOUND OUT, ATTACKED GANGMEMBER, KILLED HIM. RECEPTIONIST TAZED OWNER AS HE SHOVD HER. SHE HIT HER HEAD, KILLING HER. THE TAZER MADE OWNER HAVE A HEART ATTACK - AND THAT WAS ALL SHE WROTE, CASE CLOSED.

...

He discovered the reason fast enough as he felt nauseous as the Camaro rumbled to life around him.

and by the time he pulled into the drive at Steve, barely putting it into park before he threw the door open, stumbled to the trimed row of bushes that lined one side of it on weak knees, and retched his half-digested lunch from the deli into concealment.

...

HAS A SHOWER. GOES TO BED WITH HEADPHONES ON. HAS A RESTLESS SLEEP. EAR IS BURNING. HELL OF AN ACHE. STICK HIS FINGER IN AND THERE'S A CLEAR DISCHARGE. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH, HE GOES TO THE CLINIC.

...

Steve crossed his arms. "Why don't I 'extreme' interrogate you now, huh? Maybe get a straight answer out of you."

...

Danny glared at him for a moment and then dropped it because he just knew he wasn't going to win, and he didn't feel like putting an effort into the losing fight.

He bemoaned, "I'm not allowed to wear the headphones for at least a month either. How am I supposed to sleep if I have to listen to the stupid waves all night?"

-end-

y


End file.
